


we're only little

by Mr_Phich



Series: Samma and Stevie [3]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Aromantic, Asexuality, Caregiver!Dugan, Caregiver!Phil, Diapers, Little!Bucky - Freeform, Littles Are Known, Non-Sexual Age Play, Queerplatonic Relationships, Self-Esteem Issues, Trust Issues, Wetting, World War II, caregiver!Natasha, little!Clint, little!steve
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-07
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:53:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26868469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mr_Phich/pseuds/Mr_Phich
Summary: Bits and pieces from the "Samma and Stevie" universe that don't fit into the main story.
Relationships: Clint Barton & Phil Coulson & Natasha Romanov, James "Bucky" Barnes & Timothy "Dum Dum" Dugan, Steve Rogers & Natasha Romanov
Series: Samma and Stevie [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1392670
Comments: 16
Kudos: 129





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dugan looks after that Barnes kid, when he can. Littles that small have no place on the front lines.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More adventures in this ridiculousness, for people to read as they desire. Despite WW2 setting, no major warnings apply (which should be a shock to any of you who read my non-age play fandom nonsense). Minor mention of messing, no detail. Mentions of harassment/bullying, but again no detail.

Dugan meets Barnes upon the kid’s arrival in Italy, and immediately clocks the guy as a Little. It would be obvious, Tim thinks, even without the outline of protective padding under the guys’ uniform pants. Something about his body language. It’s not like Tim’s an expert or nothing, but he’s a caregiver, and he’s had a couple Littles over the years. 

He’s relieved when he’s informed that Private Barnes will be serving under him, because honestly, he’s seen how some of the other units treat any enlisted in their units who happen to be Little. Tim doesn’t stand for that shit, and makes a point of pulling Barnes aside for a quick, private chat as soon as he can. 

“Hey, kid, with me,” he calls, meeting Barnes eyes and jerking his thumb. Barnes pinks a little, maybe at being called ‘kid’, but follows Tim out of the makeshift barracks where the new recruits are settling in. 

He walks them to a relatively quiet place in camp, and turns to meet Barnes head on. He gives him a quick up and down, and a friendly smile. “So I’ve been informed you’re a Little.”

Barnes pales. “Yes, sir,” he replies immediately, but his body language goes tight, and that’s just no on. 

“Don’t know what it was like in Basic, but I don’t stand for any harassment here, so if anyone gives you any trouble I want you to come right to me, you hear?”

Eyes going wide, Barnes gives a tiny nod. 

“And anything else, too. I’m a caregiver, see. Left a Little at home, my wife’s lookin’ after her for the moment. So you need anything at all, you come see me.”

“Yes, sir,” Barnes replies in an utterly unconvincing way. 

“I mean it, kid. Problems with your provisions,” Tim makes a subtle downward gesture and Barnes pinks. “Problems with the other men, you’re not getting enough sleep, you need a bedtime story. And I ain’t joking about that last one, Barnes. I don’t know what the fuck they’re thinking, having class C’s out here, but your needs don’t go away just cause there’s a war on. Whatever I can do to make it easier, you just let me know.”

Wide eyed and hopeful looking, Barnes nods again, surer. 

“Good,” Tim says. “C’mon now, let’s get back and get you settled.”

*

It takes a while for Barnes to really ask for anything, but Tim expected that, so he keeps an eye out — makes sure the kid gets his nap whenever possible, keeps half an eye on the state of the kid’s drawers after Barnes leaks one too many times cause he won’t just ask for a stop, and keeps the other men off his back. 

There’s not as much trouble as Tim was expecting. It helps that Barnes is impossibly easy to like. He’s funny, charming, and an honest to god asset to the unit. Kid’s the best shooter in the bunch, which goes a long way to raising him in the esteem of the other men. He makes friends easily, and falls into the pattern of things. Sure, there are a couple bad seeds who bother him, but Tim’s got his back.

Barnes doesn’t make a nuisance of himself, either, and doesn’t let his dynamic affect him if at all possible. He doesn’t ask for much, and stays out of the way when he needs to. 

Slowly, though, Barnes does come to him. Small requests at first, “Do you think maybe I could get a rest?” But slowly working up, building trust, til he gets a request of, “Do you think you could talk to somebody about a new, um, cause these are getting kind of old, you know and —”

Sure, it’s awkward as hell, but Tim gets what the kid is trying to ask, and it’s not too much effort to requisition a couple new protective pants for the kid. 

The real moment of truth, though, comes after their first real action. 

Tim tries to keep the kid close in the action, but loses him towards the very end. And Tim’s a softy, he’ll be the first to admit that, and sure he panics a little when he regroups and finds most (never all) of the other men, and no Barnes. 

Once he’s fulfilled his duties, Tim goes looking. He finds the kid at the edge of the woods, not far from the fox hole they slept in last night. There’s blood and dust on his face, and he’s holding himself tightly, but he doesn’t look hurt. 

“Barnes!” Tim hollers, rushing up. 

The kid looks up with big, sort of wet eyes. Aw, fuck, Tim thinks quietly to himself. Gentling his voice, he asks, “Kid? You hurt? I worried, when I lost you in the action.”

“No, I’m not hurt,” Barnes says, and it doesn’t seem like a lie. 

“Then what’s up?” Dugan asks. “Why didn’t you come find us?”

“Um, Dum Dum, I um —”

Narrowing his eyes, Dugan says, “Spit it out, kid.”

In a tiny whisper, the kids admits, “I shit myself.”

Aw, fuck, Tim thinks again. He sets a hand on the kid’s shoulder. “No big deal,” he says softly.

“I _don’t,_ you know I don’t,” the kids rushes to say, almost pleading. 

“Kid, plenty of perfectly normal soldiers shit themselves the first time they see action. Doesn’t matter if they’re Little or not.”

“Really?” Barnes asks with wide eyes.

“Yup,” Tim assures. “So no beating yourself up. Only difference is you’re wearing protection and are prepared. Let’s get back to camp and you can clean up. I’ll keep the men away for a bit. No biggie.”

After that, there’s absolutely a shift. Barnes comes to him with all sorts of things, and doesn’t seem to be worried anymore that Tim’s gonna judge him for being small. If the kid needs an arm around his shoulders or to talk about home or a private spot to change, he comes to Tim, and Tim pats himself on the back and calls it a job well done. 

*

And then there’s HYDRA.

*

Afterwards, things are different. Tim is different, and Barnes is different, and all of them who were in that godforsaken workcamp and factory are different. Tired, and jumpy, and maybe a little meaner, sometimes. Barnes is pale and wide-eyed, a ghost of himself, and that’s no shock, cause everyone knows Littles are gentle, soft-hearted folks. Not meant for that kind of shit. 

But even if all that wasn’t true, things would be different, because Rogers is there. Tim had heard about Rogers, of course. Barnes’ best friend. Grew up in the orphanage together. Little together, but Rogers just big enough that he could take care of Barnes. 

Honestly, though, if Tim didn’t know any better he would never have guessed Rogers’ Little. There’s the way he looks for one — so big, with that broken nose, taller than all the other men in the unit except maybe Falsworth and Jones. More than that, though, he just doesn’t act like a Little. Not knowing a thing, Tim would guess the guy for a caregiver. 

He’s got caring for Barnes down to a science, a whole system of signals and firm looks, which have Barnes in better straits than he has been since Tim met him. They’ll be marching through the woods and Tim won’t notice a goddamn thing, and then Rogers is flicking his fingers at Barnes and Barnes is blushing, but turning into the woods to piss, only to catch up with them a couple minutes later. 

When a Little edge starts creeping into Barnes’ demeanor around the campfire or over a strategy meeting, Rogers only has to give him a look and Barnes gets himself back under control. That’s some kind of magic, Tim thinks. He only wishes he had as good control over his little girl, back home. 

Tim tries, precisely once to talk to Rogers as a caregiver, the way he had with Barnes, way back in the beginning. Rogers just smiles, pats him on the shoulder, and says, “Don’t worry about me, Dugan. Never needed it like Bucky did. I do appreciate you looking out for him, though. He thinks the world of you.”

And that’s the end of it. 

There’s something not quite right in it, Tim thinks. Sure, no one outside the unit is allowed to know Rogers is Little. Hell, most of the unit doesn’t know. Tim just knows ‘cause Barnes told him before...everything. But it’s more than that. 

Littles are meant to be little. Tim’s not backwards, he knows there are littles who are perfectly independent, productive people when they’re big. But they’re still little sometimes. But the months (and then years) tick on, and Dugan sees nothing from Rogers. No sign that he’s ever Little, that he ever lets himself be soft, even though he carves out space for Barnes to have that whenever it’s safe to do so. 

Rogers seems totally aware of what a Little needs to be healthy and happy, completely infuriated that Barnes was drafted and then refused to go home after the whole P.O.W. thing. But he applies none of it, ever, to himself. It doesn’t seem to affect him, and Barnes never seems to find it at all strange. 

But still. Dugan watches, wonders, and worries. There’s something, he’s sure, not quite right with Rogers. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natasha prides herself on being a good caregiver. She's worked hard to call herself that. She'd never leave a Little on their own. 
> 
> But then there's Steve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is set about three months after "i'm only little" where Sam finds out that Steve is little and becomes his caregiver. It's told from Natasha's POV. 
> 
> Dedicated to WhatEvenAmI, to whom Natasha is important, and who has shared many thoughts about Steve and Natasha's relationship in this verse. Thanks, friend <3

Natasha frowns softly down at her phone. There’s a text from Pepper, calling for a ‘team meeting’ in the common room, tomorrow evening. Strange because Pepper rarely texts, stranger still because Pepper never calls for team meetings. Not a good sign all the way around. 

She shoots Phil a quick text of her own.  _ On my way home. Need anything? _

_ Goldfish, ritz crackers, butterfly bandages, wipes, _ comes the prompt reply.  _ Anything we need for the trip to New York.  _

They’re in D.C. this week. They tend to bounce around, depending what’s going on with the Avengers Initiative, where Fury needs her, where Phil’s team is at, and what Clint needs. They’re not always in the same place, and it’s not often right now that she, Clint, and Phil are all in one place. It’s a good feeling. 

_ Know what that’s about?  _ Nat sends as she leaves the Avengers Initiative building. A totally nondescript building in a business complex, it’s about as far from the Triskelion as you can get. Only a small team of people work there, with most of the Avengers Initiative working in New York and a small branch in California. The goals are different — more concrete, simpler, and easier to believe in, Natasha finds, and she’s glad for the difference. 

_ Not really,  _ Phil texts back. Nat’s not shocked, though it means she’s got to live with this damned curiosity for the next twenty four hours. 

She makes a stop by the store, picking up everything on Phil’s list and some chocolate for herself, because that’s what a girl needs after a long day of meetings. The drive home is second nature, and Natasha’s thoughts drift. 

She wonders how Steve and Sam’s hunt for Barnes is going. Not well, if she had to guess. The Winter Soldier is a ghost for a reason. He’ll be found only when he’s ready, and not before. But there’d been no talking Steve out of trying. She rolls her eyes a little. Well, he can waste his own time as he pleases, she figures. 

Pulling into the driveway, she’s not surprised when the door bursts open and Clint comes running out. She smiles warmly, parking the car, turning the keys and stepping out. 

“Mama, mama, mama!” he calls excitedly. “Guess what Papa and I did today?!”

“Hmm…” she pretends thoughtfulness, locking the car and following Clint back into the house. “Did you fly to the moon?”

“Mama,” Clint protests, rolling his eyes and smiling like a loon. 

“Did you ride an elephant?”

“Mama! We went to the park and then we made cookies!”

“Well, that does sound like a very exciting day,  _ Пчелкa _ .” 

Phil chooses that moment to come out of the kitchen. He looks absurdly domestic, wearing a pair of dad jeans and a t-shirt stained with chocolate, towel tossed over his shoulder. He smiles at her, warmth in his clear eyes. “Hello dear,” he says, a running joke between them. 

They’ve been Clint’s caregivers together for eight years now, ever since Natasha was settled enough after being brought in to consider a Little. Phil had been Clint’s caregiver for years before then, but he’d welcomed her into their dynamic without pause, and she will forever be in his debt for that. 

“Hello, darling,” she returns, and steps close enough to allow a soft kiss on the cheek. She does love this man, just not the way people usually assume. “How was the wild and untamable Clint today?”

Phil presses his lips together in a telling smile. She nearly laughs. 

“That good, huh?”

“How about I pack and you watch him this evening,” is all he says. 

She gives in and grins then.

“Mama! Come try my cookies, and then can we play Guess Who? And I wanna build with Legos and —”

“Seems a fair deal,” she says over Clint’s cheerful chatter and Phil smiles gratefully. 

Natasha happily sheds the last remnants of  _ Black Widow _ , and takes on the role of  _ Mama  _ instead. It’s a process she looks forward to each and every day. She spent years feeling unsure of her place in Clint’s life, her role as a caregiver. The confidence came with time and practice, and now each role feels as comfortable and competent as the other. She’s as good a mama as she is a Black Widow, and she’ll forever be proud of that. The Red Room would have crushed this out of her, and everyday she is a good caregiver, a good mother, she wins another victory over them. 

*

She doesn’t expect the victory to be challenged so abruptly, or so severely, but she finds that it does as she sits in the common area in Avengers tower, the next day. 

“What do you mean Cap is Little?” Tony protests with wide eyes. Natasha feels the sentiment in the quick pace of her breath, in the lump in her throat. 

Pepper takes a deep breath. She, too, looks pale, possibly distressed. She also looks like she didn’t sleep much last night. Natasha wonders if she feels as Nat does — guilty, for not knowing, for not having  _ seen _ , for leaving a Little on his own. A hand takes her own. She looks down — it’s Phil’s, wearing the band on his middle finger that she gave him. Not her husband, but in some ways, so much more important. She looks up at his face. Like every caregiver in the room, he looks shaken. 

“Sam called me yesterday,” Pepper explains softly. “He’s apparently known for a few months now and is acting as Steve’s caregiver and was wondering about pursuing guardianship. He gave me permission to share the information with all of you.”

“What’s his class?” Phil asks, and it’s a desperate question, because maybe he’s a higher class — he  _ must  _ be a higher class, to have been getting by on his own all this time, never giving any of them a clue. 

“He’s E,” Pepper mumbles, an almost imperceptible tremor in her voice. 

Natasha tucks her head, pressing her lips together hard, and not letting herself show any other emotion. That’s hardly bigger than Clint. Clint who’s sitting next to her, eyes wide and mouth agape. 

“No,” Tony once again protests. “No that can’t be right. I mean, he’s  _ Cap _ , he can’t be that Little and if he was, we’d know, wouldn’t we? How could we not. Are we sure Wilson’s —”

“Steve’s records were erased by the SSR,” Pepper explains. 

“But it should have been present in his blood tests,” Bruce whispers softly. People tend to forget he’s Little, because he’s such a high class. But she can hear it in his voice now. Pepper steps closer to him, gives his shoulder a quick pat. Bruce doesn’t have an official caregiver — he hovers around ten when he’s in headspace, and so doesn’t  _ need  _ it the same way the littler ones do — but when he needs it, Pepper or Nat step in. He doesn’t tolerate male parental figures in the least for reasons no one likes to think about. 

“Well it was either purposefully kept quiet, or no one was looking carefully enough.”

“But how did we miss it?” Phil asks, voice soft. “It’s been years, he can’t possibly have gone years without — not even a single slip around any of us? How could that be?”

Pepper bites her lip. She shakes her head slowly. “I don’t know. I just — I just don’t know.” 

Natasha thought she was a good caregiver. She’d worked so hard to overcome her background, the disinterest and coldness that had been her bread and water for so long. She’d learned, slowly, in response to the easy, enthusiastic love of Clint, that she could  _ be  _ more, that she could  _ have  _ more. She’d learned to read Clint’s cues, and Bruce’s, and with time, Tony’s. They are all her boys, in one way or another, and she loves them deeply in the only way she knows how. 

She has seen children suffer, she has seen them be lonely and uncared for. 

She has been the person who turned her back on a crying child, who ignored the signs of pain, sorrow, and loneliness, because she deemed those things less important than the job, than the mission. 

Long ago, she swore to herself that she would never be that person again — that she would never walk away from a child or Little in need. 

“He must be managing alright,” she says, hearing the desperation in her own voice, and trying to squash it. Phil squeezes her hand. She squeezes back. 

“Sam didn’t comment, except —”

“Except?” Natasha prompts. 

Pepper takes a long shaky breath. “He said Steve’s been alone and scared a long time, and that Sam just wants him to feel safe again.”

Natasha closes her eyes, breathes through her nose. How could she have missed this? She’d been assigned to him. It had been her job for years to keep an eye on Cap in and out of the field. And somehow, behind the mask of Captain America, she’d missed a small, lonely, Little boy. She’s not sure she’ll ever forgive herself. 

*

That night, after Clint has been tucked into bed, pampered with extra stories and longer-than-normal cuddles with both his mama and his papa, Natasha climbs into bed with Phil. They don’t always share, but sometimes they do. 

The thing between them is the easiest and most complicated love Natasha has ever experienced. She doesn’t love romantically, but she loves Phil as friend, partner, and companion. She thinks he’s beautiful, and she’d have sex with him in a moment, but Phil doesn’t do that. He loves her romantically, strongly, passionately, and monogamously, even though Natasha’s got a host of sex partners. This thing between them is strange and wonderful and she trusts him more than she trusts anyone else. 

They lie in bed together that night, facing each other, matched expressions of sorrow and guilt. Phil rubs gentle fingers over her bare arm. 

“Phil, how did we miss this?”

“He must have been hiding it purposefully. E is so young, if he wasn’t attempting to disguise it, we would have seen.”

It doesn’t absolve her guilt. “We’re his team. And this team is family. It was our responsibility to see, to make sure he knew he could come to us. Why didn’t he come to us? Why didn’t he trust us?”

“I don’t know, Tasha. But we’ll fix it, okay? We’ll fix it.”

She tucks her chin. Makes a promise to herself that she will fix it. 

*

It’s a promise that turns out to be very hard to keep. Steve doesn’t want visitors when he’s Little, shies away from any caregiving she attempts, refuses discussion of his Little side, and generally insists they treat him exactly as they always have. 

Natasha waits and watches, hoping someday soon, Steve will let her in, let her prove to him that she can be trusted, that she will hold the small tender parts of him and won’t walk away again. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you for reading, kudoing, and commenting! Always makes my day :)


End file.
